


Reunion

by Oboeist3



Series: I Used To Have Short Hair [9]
Category: Leverage, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Eliot Spencer and Jacob "Jake" Stone are Brothers, Faking your own death, Misunderstandings, Multi, Trans Character, Trans Eliot, just an all around convoluted and awkward situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/Oboeist3
Summary: "Quick question, Hardison. What the hell is Ezekiel Jones doing in our brewpub?"(The inevitable Librarians crossover fic)





	1. Encounter

"Quick question, Hardison. What the hell is Ezekiel Jones doing in our brewpub?" Eliot hisses, looking across the floor of said pub, his hair tied up and two orders of chili resting on a tray in his hands. The hacker is hanging out in the back room, coms open, because he says the bark of Eliot's voice in the kitchen makes good white noise while builds better bugs.

"Jones is here?" Hardison asks, and he can hear the scrape of his chair as he stands up, goes over to the console. He can tell the exact moment he spots him on the security feeds, the click of his tongue against his teeth. "Yep, that's him. Guess it really is a small world."

Jones is just sitting there, is the thing. Very open posture, not looking around, a beer in one hand and the other holding onto a lovely looking red head. He doesn't look like he's casing the joint or planning anything. It looks like a date. But him just happening to have a date in their brewpub? Eliot doesn't buy the coincidence.

"Parker. Can you think of anything near here worth stealing?" Eliot says, because he's pretty sure she's in the rafters, testing a new rig. The crackle of her com conforms his suspicions, the whiny sound as she slides towards the ground.

"There's a jewelry store, a local bank, and a pawn shop with some antiques, but nothing special. Nothing worth flying out for."

"When was the last time you heard of him?"

"British Museum, two years ago, almost got himself caught on infrared." she says, disapproval in her voice. "Still haven't figured out his escape route. He's been quiet since then. Some people think he retired."

"I doubt it." Hardison chimes, the click of his keyboard audible. "I figured it would be pointless to check up on him, but that girl he's with? Her entire digital presence has been wiped clean too. The only thing left is a yearbook photo from her high school, which is obviously a honeypot. They're involved in something serious."

"Define serious." Eliot says, hand slowly reaching for his knife. It wasn't any of their business what Jones was doing, of course, not unless it interfered with or qualified for Leverage, but Eliot was still mad about Venice, so he was kind of hoping it did.

"It's not something government-sanctioned, otherwise we could find him on the records. But I don't think it's some short term criminal enterprise either. If it was, he'd just make the girl an alias so airtight I might've missed it. Instead, he disappeared her."

"So, what do you think it is?" Parker asks, knowing just the right question to ask to get Hardison out of his spiraling mess of theory and two steps ahead, leaving them both in the dirt.

"Two options. One, he's in love with this girl and he's hiding her identity to avoid endangering her with his past." Eliot glances over at the couple with a careful eye, notes the way their conversation flows easily, but there's a hesitation in affection, a caution in the spread of his arm behind her shoulder, a flush as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

"The dating is new." he reports. "Promising, but this isn't his wife yet. Maybe not even his girlfriend."

"That's not good." Hardison says grimly. "Cause the second option? He's playing the long con, and he's not alone anymore." Eliot immediately picks up the unspoken worry in that, the fear Hardison doesn't dare make audible.

Leverage has competition, and criminals so rarely play nice.

* * *

When Ezekiel stumbles into the Annex at ten in the evening, faced flushed and grinning madly, Jake knows his quiet night in is over. He sighs as he places a treatise on Iberian architecture back on the shelf, waits for his better...third, he supposes, to tell him what's got him so amused.

"Dude, you won't believe what just happened!" he says, getting all up in Jake's face until he swats at his shoulder. His breath smells of alcohol, but he's not smashed. He barely looks tipsy.

"Did something magic happen or did you find something pretty to steal?" he asks, taking a cursory look for anything shiny on his possession. He looks nicer than usual, but not nice enough to rob a gala, so he's pretty sure he hasn't robbed anything substantial. Like eighty percent sure. Nothing was certain in his company.

"Something even better! We were just at this brewpub, Cassie and me -"

"Cassie and I, Zeke." The woman in question says, arriving in the annex. She has heels balanced on her fingertips, in a cute little dress that reminds Jake of assembly. She looks good, she always looks good, but it's got that hint of the juvenile. Like she'd never felt the need to grow up. He hoped she never had to, he liked their girl like that.

"Eh, whatever. Anyway, we were grabbing a few beers, maybe a light dinner, and the chef in the window looked **exactly** like you." Ezekiel says, mimicking an explosion on the side of his head.

"Well, he wasn't exactly like you. He had scars on his neck, and his hair was longer."

"But everything else was the same, man! The crossed arms, the way his brow furrowed when he scowled and get this, he was totally besotted with these two who came out of the back, right before we left."

"How do you figure that?" Jake asks, in spite of himself.

"His eyes. They dilated fifteen percent when he spoke to them." Cassandra says, looking somewhere into the distance, and Jake can imagine it spilled before her, all sight and smell and touch cross-wired.

"Oh, I figured it out from them. I've never seen Parker show any emotion, let alone a positive one."

"You knew who they were?" Jake says, and that infernal grin grows wider, somehow.

"Of course I know. They're _thieves_."

"They recognize you?" Jake asks, already considering calling Baird. She'll have an idea of how to resolve this whole situation. While he's pretty sure his would-be doppelgänger is more exaggeration than anything, Ezekiel meeting 'old friends' could be actually dangerous.

"Excuse you. I'm a professional, I'll have you know. I don't get made."

As soon as the words leave Ezekiel's mouth, there's a ping from his phone, and the glance sobers him faster than cold water. He leans back against the stacks, twitchy little fingers moving across the screen before returning it back to his pocket.

"Ok, maybe I got made, just a little." he confesses, and Jake presses the bridge of his nose.

"I'm calling Baird." He walks towards the table where his cell phone is, only for Ezekiel to grab his wrist. It's not strong enough to hold him, but he stops long enough to hear his plea.

"Oh come on, you can't tattle on me to Baird! It's not like I planned this. Maybe they're retired, like me!" he suggests, and Jake quirks a brow.

"Oh yea? What was the thing on your phone again?"

"Somebody ran a background check on Cassie." he mutters under his breath. Jake breaks free of his hold and reaches his phone, clicking the number four. He has Baird's number on speed dial. As the dial tone rings he can hear the two of them speaking, a quiet not-whisper.

"Why did they run a background check on me?"

"They already know who I am. As a thief, I worked alone, so they want to know what's so special about you. Then again, they used to work alone too. Parker and Hardison at least. I don't know about Jake 2.0. Things must have changed, since I left the biz."

Just when Jake thinks he's going to be met with voicemail, Baird picks up the line, sounding tired and irritated.

"It's our night off, Stone. What's going on?"

"Ezekiel saw some friends from his previous profession in a bar. They noticed him too." Quick as a flash, she's back in Guardian-mode.

"Is he safe?"

"Yea, him and Cassandra are back at the Annex with me."

"Good, good. Did they approach him for anything, threaten him?" Jake decides it's faster to put his phone on speaker than seek and repeat.

"Tell her what happened."

" _Nothing_ happened. They were just there. According to one of the waitresses they own the building. One of them's a hacker, one's a thief, and I don't know about the Jake-clone but probably nothing pretty."

"Jake-clone?" Baird asks, and Cass chimes in.

"He had an eighty-six percent similarity to Jake in facial features and expressions, but he had long hair and a lot of scars. It was pretty uncanny."

"You think it's magic?" Baird says, and Ezekiel shakes his head.

"Not likely, but...not impossible." he concedes. Jake does not like the thought of that, some creature walking around with his face, hanging with thieves. Other thieves. He'd had enough of the whole business with Hokolonote.

"Ok. Jones, send me the address and everything you have on these people. I'll go tomorrow, see what I can find out. In the meantime, you'll all have to hang out in the Annex. Ask Jenkins everything he knows about doppelgängers. If you're nice, he might share his tea." she says, and they can all practically see her winning smile.

Jake sighs. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

As if to prove him right, the day after Ezekiel Jones reappears, a determined and certainly lethal blonde enters the brewpub. She's got this lean efficiency about her, dressed in her light grey suit and high ponytail. Eliot hands the dish he's working on to one of the new guys, Zach, and heads towards the back room.

"Guys, there's a ex-NATO counter-terrorism officer here, put in your coms and follow my lead." he says to the two, before inelegantly shoving himself into a supply closet. Keeping himself out of sight seemed like the best strategy, in case things came to blows.

"How do you know she was in NATO?" Hardison asks, a crackle accompanying his question as the bud settles in his ear.

"The way she crossed her arms."

"You identified her down to the unit from that?"

"It's a very distinctive arm-crossing style. That's not the point. She's going to ask for the owner of the establishment pretty much immediately."

"Is she here to arrest us?" Parker asks, and he can hear her start to pry off a ventilation cover.

"No, Parker. She's alone, making herself known. She's here to get information. Anyone coming to mind?" Eliot says, desperately wishing he had just gone with his gut and punched Ezekiel when he had the chance.

As if on cue, he hears the click as the door to the back room opens, Amy saying there was someone there to see them.

"Hello there. I'm Colonel Eve Baird. I could give you a long yarn about why I'm here, but you're smart, you'll see through it. Isn't that right, Parker and Alec Hardison?" There's a sharp intake of breath from Hardison, an awfully obvious tell. "So, two questions. Why are you here in Portland, and where's your third person?"

"Tell her the truth for the first question. The clean version." Eliot instructs, since he can practically feel the panic rolling off of Hardison. He can't say he quite blames him. For him, the militant edge to her words is almost a comfort, familiar. To the outsider though, it must sound threatening and ominous.

"W-We live here. I own the pub and the apartment and sign the paychecks and everything."

"Didn't know background checks on customers were standard procedure in the brewpub industry." she says, dry, but informative.

"She's with Jones then. Not an underling, but not his boss either. Try and find out who's in charge." Eliot says.

"We do some consulting." Parker says, crisp and rather believable. She's really come into her own as an actress. "And what exactly is it that you do?"

"That's not important. I have a pretty good idea of what _you_ do, thanks to a buddy in Interpol. Very Robin Hood." Could she be a colleague of Sterling? He thought that rat bastard had moved on, too busy chasing glory to bother with past failures. Then, her tone changes, becomes more conversational. Open. Honest. "Listen, the things you do, they're not in my jurisdiction. Your guy though, the one with the long hair? He might be. I just need my people to see him to make sure."

Eliot hears the scrape of the chair as she stands, can imagine her hands tugging the edge of her jacket.

"We'll be here, nineteen-hundred hours. Take any precautions you'd like, but if you hurt my people, I'll retaliate." With that, Colonel Baird takes her leave, and Eliot reemerges in the main room, shaking dust out of his hair.

"What are we going to do?" Parker asks, her voice barely a whisper.

Eliot wishes he was like Nate, in that moment, able to smooth his way through disaster with a quip and a one-liner about theft. Instead, he tells the truth.

"I don't know."


	2. Contemplation (Jake POV)

Jenkins, after some mild grumbling, does agree to make tea for them all and help identify their foe. Or try at least. His first-time success rate has never been high, but it's definitely better than anything they can come up with on their own. As he is busy in his preparations, Ezekiel pulls up his files on the two thieves.

"This is Alec Hardison, hacker extraordinaire. Give this man a computer and enough time and he could be ruling the world. Notable hits include the Bank of Iceland, the Pentagon, and Bering Aviation. That was a few years ago, and ever since he's been a ghost, popping up here and there and disappearing just as quickly."

"Must be reaaal special for the Ezekiel Jones to be singing praises." Jake says, because he's exhausted and worried and banter with Ezekiel is something he can rely on. Unfortunately, it doesn't land.

"You don't get it. I pick up tricks to subvert security systems, he invents them. I hide data from people, he destroys it. He's a nice guy, so he won't hurt innocent people, but I wouldn't want to be his enemy. No sir."

"What about the other one?" Cassandra asks.

"Parker, a woman after me own heart. Professionally, that is." he says, looking over at their girlfriend.

"I thought she was pretty." she volunteers, unperturbed.

"Is Parker a first or last name?" Jake asks, earning only a shrug.

"She's a classic thief, stole some of the most priceless jewels in Europe. Mostly diamonds, the Polar Star, Gem of Gibraltar. Utterly bonkers, but it doesn't seem to stop her."

"If I may interrupt, Mr. Jones." he says, handing them each a cup of tea. Jake takes a sip of his, finds that it's black tea. "It's probably not a doppelgänger." Jenkins declares, heaving an old and dusty book off the shelves. "There's many different kinds, some benign, others not so much. The Norse variety are relatively harmless, but the Egyptian? Nasty. However, their defining characteristic is that they are seen _by_ the person they're impersonating. Otherwise you have to take someone's word for it."

"What about shapeshifters? They like to cause chaos, right?" Jake asks, more than a little nervous. He's not keen on another truth-telling session.

"That is, thankfully, impossible. Shapeshifters are perfect in their physical details, they would not mess up something easy like hair. Tricksters are a possibility, but it's a strange route to go. Direct paths are the best, they soak up the most fear and confusion. Again, it would be most useful to have you see this approximation."

"So what's your best guess, Jenkins?"

"If I were a betting man, though I am not, my bet would be on something mundane. Perhaps a family member of some kind." he says, and there's a slight pause there, a heavier meaning Jake can't quite parse.

"What, like some sorta secret twin?" Ezekiel asks, and Jenkins does that thing where he doesn't deny it, even though it's ridiculous, just says perhaps and wanders away.

"I don't have a secret twin, Jones." he growls. "Whatever the deal is with this guy, it doesn't change the fact that you started all this. Send your profiles to Baird, I'm going to catch some shut eye."

* * *

He waits until he's out of sight to reach for the dog tags hanging around his neck. He's been wearing them for so many years now, it's easy to forget they aren't actually his. But that comment about secret family, it triggers something. A voice in his ear, telling him to 'tuck your thumb in, you want to break their face, not your hand.' He stares at the name, mostly worn away, not actually trying to read, he'll never forget.

"Jake?"

That's Cassie's voice, Cassie's face hovering next to his, looking all sweet and concerned.

"Are you alright?" she says, her gentle fingers moving to where his knuckles have gone white from gripping the metal tight, tracing Greek letters until they go slack.

"Yea." he breathes, one long exhale of a word. "I just don't like this. Old friends, look alikes. We've got enough shit to deal with."

"Like what?" Ezekiel quips, hand on his shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear. Turns out that dating him meant giving up all claims on personal space. He'd be madder about it, but Ezekiel is actually quite good at gauging when he's welcome. When he's needed.

"There's just always _something_." he admits, his breath rushing out of his lungs like a can being collapsed, like he's sitting in confessional, begging for answers. "Dulaque. Prospero. We almost lost Flynn and Baird with the time travel, lost them for good. No magical fix, just gone." he says, remembers the empty feeling, the chill of grief just barely avoided.

"We almost die every day, Jake." Ezekiel says, ever the pedant.

"I know!" he snaps, drops his head into his hands. "I know. Magic is a dangerous, barely controllable force of nature, beyond any of our understanding. And I love it, I love this job. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing. No people I'd rather be by my side than you. But still..." he trails off.

"You worry. You already did, before, but it's gotten worse. An affection spoken is an affection multiplied, and you don't know what you'd do without us. Probably something stupid." she finishes, remarkably accurate.

"Yea. Probably. How'd you know?" he asks, and Ezekiel scoffs.

"You think you have a monopoly on caring? Newsflash cowboy: we love you too. And you're not getting rid of us easy, not for magic or anything. I mean, obviously we're the best." he says, puffing up, and somehow, it works. Brilliant, stupid, Ezekiel Jones, who always knows what to say.

"Hm, I don't know." Jake hums, placing a kiss on the crown of Cassie's head, pulling Zeke close to his side. "That Hardison sounds like a catch." he teases, and gets a scowl for his trouble.

"I know you're joking, but if you leave me for Hardison, I will hack everything you love." he says, deadpan, and Jake chuckles.

"Good luck with that."

* * *

Baird comes in early the next morning, murmurs with Ezekiel, then Jenkins. She makes calls and marches out with a determined look in her eye. By the time she comes back, nearing ten, she looks less like a soldier on a mission and more like their friend, sits Jake down at a table.

"I think Jenkins is right. From what I gathered, these three, they're thieves with mixed morals, more than a little experience. They're worried about law enforcement and competition. Not magic. Didn't actually get to see the guy, they're cautious that way, but I've set up a meeting this evening. If they're normal, we'll make it clear that we have no need to be adversaries. If it is magic, we'll deal with it, same as always."

"What if they run?" Jake asks, unclear if he wants that to happen or not. Everything about this is a little...off, like staring at a Dali and not really looking. He feels like there's something he's missing, something obvious.

Baird just temples her fingers and grins.

"They won't run."

"How do you know?"

"The greatest weapon of war is not the weapons, Stone. It's the knowledge. I've offered a chance to know their enemy, on their territory, at a set time frame. I've made it clear we have no intention of attacking unless provoked. Your double may be wary, but this opportunity is far too advantageous to pass up."

People imagine that Baird has a tough time, juggling geniuses, keeping them alive. That she must struggle to keep up with their ever-whirring brains. Jake knows better. She might not have a PhD but Baird is most certainly an expert, on one of the most important subjects of all. People. She knows how they tick, what they want. She knows how to make her goals align with theirs.

"This almost feels like a trap. Walking straight into a lion's den." he points out, raising an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes.

"If if makes you feel better, I'm still bringing a gun."

"It doesn't hurt."

* * *

So now it's six fifty-seven and he's standing outside a brewpub, Ezekiel on one side, Cassandra on the other, Baird flanking. It's a nice looking place, a little hipstery for his own tastes, but not a bad spot for a date. Well, ignoring the apparent ties to a criminal organization. Cassandra twines her fingers with his, squeezing reassurance and tilting a smile his way.

Jake takes a deep breath, and pushes open the door.


	3. Conference

"Hardison, what are you doing?" Eliot asks, watching the hacker inelegantly stuff cables into a mesh black bag, reaching for a laptop and doing the sort of flurried typing motion oft associated with last minute panic.

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing? I'm getting us tickets out of here." Indeed, Eliot hears the printer start to whir in the background, angrily spitting ink onto the paper. He also wrenches the painting of elderly Nate from the wall, punches in a long string of numbers to a keypad, and pulls out two duffel bags, one tan, one black. He tosses the former to Eliot, forcing him to catch.

"Now y'all know the drill. We'll take three separate planes, using the clean papers. Parker, you got the Netherlands, Eliot, Canada. I'll establish contact within forty-eight hours and we'll monitor the situation. Assuming we don't get tracked down by....whoever, we'll rendezvous in a fortnight at Osaka, get some oden - can't run on an empty stomach - then transfer to somewhere with decent internet infrastructure and enough Americans running around to not be noteworthy. I'm thinking Busan, but we probably won't be able to all room together without raising some eyebrows. You wanna be Eliot's girlfriend this time around, Parker?" he asks, concluding his ramble. She slings her duffel bag over her shoulder and looks puzzled.

"I'm already Eliot's girlfriend."

"Right, but do you want Alice White to be, um -" he double checks his laptop. "Alexander Noble's girlfriend?" Eliot wants to roll his eyes, he's never been so cliche as to choose Alex as one of his names, not even in an alias. He suspects a certain amount of narcissism on Hardison's part.

"I think Alice might be gay." she says evenly, and he pauses in his frantic pacing/packing cycle to stare, then blink excessively. "All the men she's dated have been garbage. One of them killed her. It feels like she might be using them as an excuse." she muses. Eliot takes the opportunity of Hardison's stillness to place a hand on his shoulder, hold him steady.

"You've got a point there, Parker. It doesn't matter though, cause we're not running."

"I'm sorry, I must be hearing things. What did you say?!" he screeches, forcing Eliot to tighten his hold before he can go back to pacing a hole in the floor.

"Listen to me! We have the advantage in this situation. We know when they're coming, and why. If we run, we lose that advantage. If we knew who they were, running might be better, but we don't. Without that information, we could be sitting ducks anywhere." Hardison makes the face he always does when Eliot is right, wrinkled nose and sharply angled eyebrows.

"You're right, we don't know who they are. But we know they're after _you_. I don't care if they're not going to interfere with Leverage, that's a job. You're way more important than that." he says, the last words trailing off to barely a whisper.

"That's sweet." he says, because it is, and he'll tease him till their dying day but sometimes it merits saying. "But we're still not running." He can feel the huff of his sigh with the press of the kiss, just above his ear.

"It was worth a shot."

"Parker, how many plans do you have for escaping the pub on short notice?" Eliot asks, watches as her expression shifts, a tiny, knowing smile graces her features. She's the Mastermind now, and it's scary and wonderful how much he trusts her with it.

"Twenty-three."

"How many that do not involve grievous injury and/or death?" Hardison asks, which is an important caveat.

"Four."

"We'll focus on those then."

* * *

It's strange how normal the rest of the day goes. Eliot informs the kitchen staff that they'll be closing a few hours early, but they'll still get paid for the full time, and aside from Zach asking Felicity for a ride home, they don't even blink. The regulars come and go, and Hardison parades out his newest craft beer, awful as ever. A few times he hears the clang from Parker in the air ducts, working on plan C. It's her favorite, but Eliot's hoping for plan G if it has to come to it.

There's an edge to his actions though, not nervous, but something like it. He keeps flipping his knife between the position to cut vegetables and cutting throats, and Gloria makes a joke about him looking bloodthirsty as he drizzles lemon onto an entree. In between customers he finds himself reviewing past enemies, thinking of who could lure Baird to their side.

There's a handful of candidates, but there's a style to all of them, one he doesn't feel from Colonel Baird's meeting. Illogical as it is, he finds himself inclined to believe her promise of peaceful intentions. But who would be interested in Eliot Spencer, the man, and not Eliot Spencer, the hitter? Nobody. Nobody at all.

It doesn't help that two hours before their meeting Hardison pulls him aside, tells him he's triggered the honeypot around Cassandra Cillian, scavenged enough information to find out that she's a civilian. A genius, judging from the amount of student science awards in her name, but not government and certainly not criminal. In fact, there's sympathy in Hardison's voice when he talks about her.

"You know something else." he accuses, and he fidgets, looks to the floor.

"It's not really our business, man."

"It's a potential enemy, Hardison. I need to know everything."

Instead of answering verbally, he pulls up her high school yearbook photo. In it is a waif of a girl with a beanie on her head and dark circles under her eyes. She isn't smiling, but she's not really frowning either. It doesn't look much at all like the happy, free spirited woman who had come in the previous night. Eliot's eyes slide over to a doctor's note, MRI scans and a big, dark spot in her frontal lobe. Not wax, this time.

"She's dying."

"Any day now. When she was younger they tried chemo, experimental stuff, nearly bankrupt her parents. Didn't do a thing."

"Anything recent?"

"That's the thing. Two years ago, she drops off the grid. No bank statements, no hospital records, nothing."

"Just like Jones." he realizes, and he nods.

"Colonel Baird made a similar disappearing act around the same time. A little less complete, she still uses her bank account to buy groceries, send Christmas gifts. Her nephew is seriously scoring by the way, getting one of those mini trucks. Her background is what you'd figure, military brat, impeccable service record. Her last mission was a blip though, given paid time off, and then resigned soon after."

"Can you get the file on that mission?" he asks, but Hardison shakes his head.

"Not remotely, they're pretty big on not letting terrorists get this info. They don't even digitize most of it, keep it on site in -"

"Brussels."

"Of course you know that. I'mma keep looking, just in case, but I doubt I can pull a Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch out of my ass in less than two hours." he warns, wanders into the back with his hands up in mock surrender.

For the most part, Eliot's grateful. Any information is better than none, but it makes the whole thing even more confusing. What do Jones, a lucky, quick-fingered thief - Cillian, a terminally ill science geek - and Baird, an ex-NATO counter-terrorism officer - possibly have to gain from each other? It must be a crew of some sort, requiring specialized skills, but what?

And why the hell are they interested in him?

* * *

Setting up the brewpub for optimal escape is a pretty simple operation. All Eliot has to do is shift some of the seating, stand in the blind spot between the windows. The space is open enough that he can initiate close combat if necessary, but has enough cover to avoid gunshot. He arms himself, two knives and an unloaded gun. Parker and Hardison flank him, closer to cover. Parker has her taser at the ready, and Hardison has his eyes glued to the feed from the security cams. They stand and wait as the minutes click by, one by one by one.

"They're here." Hardison says, right as the door creaks open.

It's Jones first, unarmed and looking amused as his gaze falls over them. There's a swagger in his step and joy in his eyes, an inappropriate level of mirth. His fingers are tucked into the front of his pockets, and he lets out a whistle.

"Looking lovely as ever, Parker. You too, Hardison." he says, sending a salacious wink their way.

" **Jones**." Eliot can't help but growl, possessive streak flaring up at the absolute worst time. His wide smile stutters, comes back with a nervous edge.

"Now that is freaking uncanny."

Cassandra enters quietly, her shoulders hunched, but her eyes flick between them, filled with endless curiosity. He can all but see the questions piling up on her lips, desperate to spill over. She doesn't look like a dying girl, but that's probably to her credit. He takes a breath before addressing her, Southern hospitality seeping in.

"Miss Cillian."

"Hello there!" she chirps, gives a cheerful little wave. "You've moved all the tables approximately thirty-eight centimeters since last night. Does it make it easier to clean the floors? The spilled beer must get sticky, after all." she says, with an alarming amount of certainty in her measurement.

"Easier to wipe the floor, maybe." says Baird dryly, pushing herself through. She has a gun in her hands, safety on, muzzle pointed towards the floor. Six bullets in the chamber. A defensive weapon, clearly. "You're a close combat expert, so I'll be staying back here." she says, well out of his range of efficacy. He admires it, even though it increases the risk of injury substantially.

"You should have dragged me along, guys, the architecture on this place is fascinating. It's like Nighthawks and an 18th century fort had a lovechild, you could maintain a siege from in...here." His words trail off as their eyes meet, and the answer to his question becomes painfully obvious. Family.

Eliot knows he's staring. He's staring and he can't stop, because he never thought, he never dared to hope that this might happen. That he might see him again. Happy and healthy and talking about art out loud. It's almost too good to be true.

"Jake." he rasps around the lump in his throat. He still bites his lip when he's confused, his eyes go narrow as a snake's. He's so different and yet so utterly the same as the fourteen year old at the doorstep, making him promise that he'll come home. A broken promise.

Before he can think about repercussions, his feet are moving forward, his arms wrapping around him, holding him. Seventeen years is much too long to go without hugging your brother, and he's making up for lost time. Far away are voices, demanding answers, answers no one else has.

"You made it out. You really made it out!" he says, grinning like a madman. "I thought you were just going to write papers and fix pipes forever, but you did it."

"Um, yea. I did. Sorry but do I -"

"Jakey bear, I'm so proud of you."

Suddenly, Jake's pulling back, his shoes squeaking against the floor as he scrambles away, looking at him with fear and distrust. He hears the click of the safety on Baird's gun, pointed straight between his eyes.

"How'd you know that name? You can't....nobody knows about that." he says, wringing his hands. He looks at Eliot like he's a monster, something out of a nightmare. Like he was everything he ever feared rolled into one.

"Who the hell are you?!"


	4. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: some blink and you'll miss it suicidal ideation, mentions of child abuse (fuck isaac stone)

"Woah, woah! Can we not with the shooting?" Hardison says, hands in the air, even though the gun hasn't moved from it's mark on Eliot's forehead. "I'm sure there's a completely logical answer to all of this. Right?" he asks, begs really.

Eliot isn't ready for words yet. He's too full of feelings, love and hurt and guilt and sorrow, all the things he hasn't allowed himself to feel this fully in years. He's not worried about the gun, because some horrible, desperate, broken part of him wants it to be there. Wants a bullet in his brain just so he doesn't have to see Jake looking at him like that.

He presses the heel of his palms against his eyes, digs until the dots against black go from pink to purple to green. The pain of it grounds him, lets him find his focus again. He nods, bringing his hands to his sides. Their visitors have all moved backwards, hiding behind Baird like children scared of the monster in the closet. It's almost funny.

"You've got five minutes. Explain." she demands, steel in her voice that only comes from experience.

In his fugue, he finds that Hardison has moved closer, Parker completely gone from site. They must be on plan C. There's fingers holding onto his wrist though, which isn't part of it. In fact, they aren't being nearly as distracting as they're supposed to be.

"Eliot, what's going on?" he asks, gentle, quiet, private. The voice of rooftop discussions, confessions in the dark, whispered 'I love yous' between undercover personas. He can see how much this is affecting him, wrecking him.

"You remember the job in Apple Springs?" he starts, because he can't just speak the details of his past straight out. He's never been able to, not at his best. He's not at his best right now.

"The one with Value!More?"

"Mhm. Afterwords you raided a candy store, and we had a discussion on a park bench."

"Yea, about your Pop and - ohhh." Hardison says, looking at Jake with a new understanding. "That's a hell of a resemblance."

"I hate to interrupt your little meeting there, but I'm still not hearing an explanation." Baird says. "If you don't have a satisfactory one, we're going to have to assume the worst."

"You said he had five minutes, it's only been two." Parker says, poking her head out of the air duct and aiming her taser for their huddled masses. "Also, please stop pointing a gun at my boyfriends."

"I _knew_ I was right about the dating!" Jones says, looking very pleased with himself, and earning various glares from his companions.

"Not the time, Jones!" Jake barks, earns a shrug in response.

"Will everyone just be quiet for one minute!" Cassandra says, with a surprising amount of vitriol considering her generally sweet demeanor. Her demands are met, and silence falls over the brewpub. "This whole situation is getting needlessly complicated. What's your name, mister?"

"Um, Eliot."

"Nice to meet you, Eliot. My name's Cassandra. This is Zeke and Jake. We're Librarians, does that mean anything to you?"

"No. Should it?"

"Probably not. It's not a particularly famous library. Do you or either of your companions want to hurt us?"

"No, course not." he says, somewhat bristly.

"Good. Neither do we. So why don't we put the guns and tasers away and actually discuss what's going on?"

Baird takes a moment to consider, her gaze flicking between the pair of them and Parker. She's obviously still uncomfortable with the situation, the information deficit makes her uneasy, but being locked in this game of firearm chicken isn't likely to get her answers. The safety clicks back into place, and Cassandra smiles, back to cheerful and cotton candy sweet.

Eliot is starting to like this girl.

* * *

They decide to make a table their weapons check, one of the small ones, only big enough for two people. On it, Eliot deposits his knives and gun, pulls out the empty clip for good measure. Baird's eyebrows raise when she sees that, though she doesn't mirror the action. It takes some convincing to get Parker to add her taser, and Jones ends up fiddling with it when she finally does.

"This thing is beautiful, where'd you get it?" he asks, as nonchalant as ever.

"Alec made it for me. Stop touching." she says, and he puts it back carefully, like he's trying to fool a pressure sensor.

"So, you know Stone here. He doesn't know you. How exactly does that happen?" Baird asks, clearly not one for subtlety.

"I could tell you, but you wouldn't believe me." Eliot warns.

"Trust me kid, I've seen a lot of impossible things. You are not even close to being the weirdest one." she says wearily, but there's enjoyment in there too, likely unspoken.

"You're right. You might believe me. But he won't." he says, nodding at Jake, who still won't meet his eye, won't even look in his direction. "His is the only opinion that really matters."

"I see. Stone, you said that he can't know that name. Why?"

"Cause only one person called me that, and she's dead." he says, rubbing his eyes before the tears can come. Eliot knows the technique well, he taught him to do it. Crying was emotion and emotion was weakness, to Father, something that needed beating out. Jake's certainly emotional right now, always the one with the bigger heart, soft and kind and good.

Eliot knows that he's not going to listen to facts, to the ugly truth. He's going to be stubborn and bullheaded, lash out and not see the obvious. If he can't convince him with reason, then he has to do the complete opposite.

"Yes, she's dead. She died in Iraq, with a flag on her shoulder, shrapnel in her skin. She was only nineteen, but she was tired, so tired. I did her a favor."

"What did you do?" he asks.

"I killed her."

"You son of a bitch!" Right on cue, there's a fist heading towards his face, pure fury. Eliot catches it easily enough, but there's more force than he's expecting. More than he used to be able to do.

"Not bad. You actually remembered to tuck in your thumb this time." he says, and he sees the gears of that genius brain start to click. His eyes drift to the arm still blocking his fist, to the long white scar stretching from elbow towards the wrist.

"El. You did it. You actually went and did it, and you made us think you were _dead_!"

"Not to be rude, but does anyone else have any idea what the hell's going on here?" Jones chimes in, because he's never been any good with timing.

"Eliot is Jake's older brother, obviously." Parker says, rolling her eyes. "He hasn't seen Jake since before he joined the military."

"Ohhh." Cassandra says, then takes a moment to think about it. "Why did it take so long for him to recognize him?"

"Um, let's just say he looked pretty different back then." Hardison volunteers, nervously.

"You could certainly say that." Jake says, bitter, and yet the anger is slowly plummeting. There's a web of complicated, dangerous, painful emotions at the heart of this. A lot of betrayal, a lot of hurt. There's happiness there too, just waiting for it's chance to shine. Eliot doesn't care how long it takes, what he has to do to excavate it. And he sees just the foothold to start on.

"Hmm, yea. It was crazy. I used to have short hair."

Jake's laughter, even with the hysterical edge, sounds a little like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not very good at author's notes but i have a few things worth saying so i hope you'll forgive my ineptitude 
> 
> first, thank you so much to all you guys for reading. i'm glad that my self indulgent headcanon is something you've been able to enjoy. a special shoutout to all the commenters, providing me with the inspiration to continue and many smiles.
> 
> second, while this chapter is the end of this particular fic (reunion), it is not the end of the crossover! i just wanted to keep things tidy but there will be a sequel answering such important questions as
> 
> \- what happened in venice between eliot and ezekiel?  
> \- why does jake call eliot 'el'?  
> \- how will eliot react to jake's relationship?
> 
> plus a bunch of dual ot3 interactions and that weird mix of angst and humor fans of these shows are used to
> 
> hope to see you there! :D


End file.
